


Ya'aburnee

by queerwatson



Series: The Lexical Gaps of the English Language [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwatson/pseuds/queerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s another couple of weeks after Sherlock gets to come home from the hospital that John has decided they’re not allowed to take cases. It takes him until half-way through week two to finally snap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ya'aburnee

There’s another couple of weeks after Sherlock gets to come home from the hospital that John has decided they’re not allowed to take cases. Sherlock is obviously bored, but John knows that if he says they can go out on a case, there’ll be running and chasing and shooting and all kinds of things that could put Sherlock’s foot in an even worse state.

He tries his best to keep Sherlock from being too bored - letting him criticize everything on the telly, demanding they go out to dinner at least once or twice, cuddling with him in an attempt to make him feel a little better.

Without any cases, though, John has to go to work, and so even though he tries to keep his days short, he inevitably comes home to an irritated Sherlock in the middle of some ridiculous experiment or another attack on the wall - this time with throwing knives, though John has no idea where he got them.

It takes him until half-way through week two to finally snap.

“What the actual hell are you doing?”

Sherlock stops, turns, and gives him a look before directing his gaze back to the various human body parts that are in their bathtub.

“No, really, explain to me right now what you’re doing, and why you couldn’t just - I don’t know - be careful when you go out and get the shopping? If you would ever actually go out and get the shopping, that is.”

John is thoroughly ignored.

“Sherlock, every time this week I have come home from work - I have tried to keep my hours short, I have done everything I possibly can in an attempt to keep you entertained. I haven’t complained about the things you’ve been keeping in the fridge or the knives in the wall because I told you that you weren’t allowed to take cases, and I know how you are, but for Christ’s sake, could you not just use my computer or something? Just -" He really doesn’t know what to say anymore, and so he ends on that sigh of exasperation and turns to exit the room, but Sherlock finally speaks.

“Sometimes you just wish I’d have stayed dead, don’t you?”

That’s enough to stop him in his tracks, and John turns back, his jaw clenched. “Why the hell would I wish for that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You had the flat clean of body parts and all to yourself. You’d forgotten how tired of me you can get - your memories betrayed you; they often do. Memories aren’t like videos in our head - we rewrite them every time we remember. They’re completely unreliable unless they are facts.” One of Sherlock’s many looks of condescension is currently directed toward him, and John has far beyond had enough.

He walks over, and drags Sherlock up by the collar of his dressing gown - still careful to make sure that he’s not forcing him to put too much weight on the injured foot. “Listen, all right? I will always put up with you, I will always forgive you, I am not leaving, and I am sick of calling you an idiot and an absolute prick but that is exactly what you are! You have no idea what it was like for me to think you were dead - at least when you were off running about after Moriarty’s men you knew I was alive and you knew you would get to come back. I was here, alone, lost, and feeling like an idiot because half of the people I knew suddenly thought I was some sort of fraud, too, or that I’d been taken in by your nonexistent lies. All I wanted was to find a head in the fridge or new gunshots in the wall or eyeballs in our microwave because it would have reminded me of you! I remembered exactly how tiresome you were but I missed you anyways! If it wouldn’t knock you off-balance, I’d punch you right now.”

He sets Sherlock back down on the edge of the tub and walks out, grumbling all the while. He’s only just started to calm down and make himself tea when Sherlock gets out to the kitchen and looks at him - it’s a sad sort of look, and one he’s not familiar with finding on Sherlock’s face, but it doesn’t look abnormal - he feels like he’s seen it before, but not for long.

Sherlock sighs. “I apologize.” He pauses there, and John looks at him expectantly. “I don’t see why I need to continue the apology - anything I could say you already know. I have little to no sense of empathy - it’s very difficult for me to remember sometimes, how you feel.”

“So you’re saying that if I died -”

Sherlock grabs his arm, then, forcing eye contact. “John, please.”

Licking his lips, John turns back around and finishes making the tea before he speaks again. “That’s all I meant. Don’t expect me to... to wish you dead all over again.” Suddenly, he remembers something, a word that he happened to learn in Afghanistan, and he gets face to face with Sherlock again. “I’m not losing you again, all right? Ya’aburnee.” He had thought Sherlock might already be familiar with it, but he looks puzzled.

“That’s Arabic,” Sherlock says as a response, and John nods. “I didn’t realize... Of course, you could have learned some in Afghanistan. It is also common for soldiers to learn some Arabic before they go to the Middle East since so many dialects are based on Arabic.”

John nods again, and there’s pause when he realizes he’s going to have to have to explain it. “I’m surprised you don’t know it.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and picks up his tea - taking a sip before it’s really cooled off, just like he always does.

“Right. Well... Now I’m afraid it’s embarrassing. I should just make you look it up - that’s what you did to me.”

“Only the first time.”

“Fine... It’s sort of... Difficult to explain. Literally it means you bury me. It’s sort of... the idea that I don’t think I could live without you - which, technically, I’ve done it once but I won’t do it again. It’s the idea that I hope I die before you, so I don’t have to lose you. Not again.”

He’s being examined, then, and Sherlock tilts his head a little. “Ideally we would die at the same time,” he says quietly, and John smiles at him a little over their tea. That’s where the conversation ends.

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow's the last one! I've really loved writing this series. I hope you guys have enjoyed reading it.


End file.
